


camisado

by fr0ntier



Series: only acting like this 'cause i like you [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bilingual Character(s), Canon Disabled Character, Dancer Natasha Romanov, F/M, Flirting, Gen, Nerd Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fr0ntier/pseuds/fr0ntier
Summary: What starts as a meet-cute ends slightly less innocently, because Natasha always has carefully calculated plans. (aka obligatory buckynat college au)





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

> **camisado** , noun. plural **camisados  
>  ** 1\. _a military attack made in the night_

 

* * *

  
Someone suddenly plopped into the chair opposite his, which was concerning for more than a few reasons. For one thing, he hadn't even heard the door open or close. For another, the private study room he booked for himself every Wednesday and Friday required his student card for access. 

“What the fuck?”

He was more than a little surprised to discover, upon glancing up, the pretty redhead from his lecture and accompanying lab. She popped a bubble of hot pink gum. He fidgeted under her silence, looked away when she eyed him up and down.

“Academic dishonesty has consequences as severe as expulsion.”

Bucky's head snapped back towards her. Huh. He'd never heard her speak before, and now he detected a light accent. “You break in here just to read me the student handbook?”

She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, I didn’t break in. These doors are easy to open if you know how. It was all  _very_ legal.”

"...Uh huh." She looked dangerous, even with soft, feminine features and big green doe-eyes. And the silky mop of red hair on her head. And the elegance of her pale shoulders. And - shit, he was staring. 

“Do I know you?” He wondered innocently, trying to keep his voice even. Heat licked up his spine when she flashed a lopsided smirk at him.

“Don’t play stupid,” she crooned. And...wow. He could better appreciate that low, pleasant feminine rasp now that she was saying more than a few words. “We have two classes together. You stare at me when you think I’m not looking.”

The flush ran down his neck before he could catch it. Caught off guard he ducked his head. It broke their eye contact briefly enough that he missed the way her smirk turned predatory. Bucky took a deep breath. “What, you come in here to...to introduce yourself? And then embarrass me for being a creep?”

“I haven’t introduced myself yet. And trust me, you’re not a creep. This would be _much_ less pleasant if you were.”

“Already pretty fuckin’ unpleasant,” he groused, although it wasn’t true. “What do you want?” 

Her eyes turned big and innocent. “I already told you. Academic dishonesty has consequences as severe as expulsion from the university.”

The fingertips of his right hand floated up, brushed the knotted sleeve at his opposite side. “Everybody knows that," he muttered, hating how childish he sounded. "They beat it into us each syllabus week.”

A subtle change overcame her face. She still looked innocent, and anyone outside hearing range would think the two of them were having a normal conversation. Bucky was close enough to get nervous at the little wicked angle the corners of her lips were making. _This girl was something else._ “

"And yet you still cheated on the last lab assignment.”

His face heated again. “Uh –” 

She held up a slim, prettily manicured hand. “I can already tell you're a bad liar, so don’t try it. I saw you were using a pre-completed PDF of the packet to fill it in. You got it from one of those rip-off assignment sharing sites. The ones that make you buy a subscription. Right?”

 _All right, what the fuck._ Bucky blinked at her a few times, trying to feign as convincing a look of confusion and innocence as he could. She didn’t seem to fall for it. In fact, one dignified ruddy eyebrow lifted into her hairline. He sighed and slumped back in his chair, defeated.

“Listen sweetheart, I’ll bite. You can’t just be warning me my current path of dishonesty will be my academic downfall. Don’t seem the studious type.” He studied her from the top of her head, to her neatly manicured hands clasped together on the table. If his eyes were a little slow to travel back up, well. Most people wouldn't blame him. “You want the answers or something? Ain’t gonna convince me to give it up, ‘cuz honestly. I don’t make it - cheating - a habit, but that thing was like 30% of our grade. I ain’t about to fail.”

“Your accent is cute. Where are you from?”

Bucky blinked at her, taken aback by the compliment. She was still smirking. “U-uh, Brooklyn. Born and raised.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You? Eastern Europe, I’m assuming.”

“Volgograd.” she answered. He found he liked the way the the word rolled off her tongue. “Born and raised.”

He studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed. “So what’s going on here? _Do_ you want the answers? Gonna have to pay up if that’s the case, even if you got a sweet face, because –” Bucky wasn’t sure what was so funny about that, but she tossed her head back and laughed at him. If he hadn’t been thoroughly convinced before, now he was sure - everything about this girl was right up his alley. She made a demand, he knew he was fucked. 

"How ironic," she tittered, attempting to catch her breath. She tucked her knuckles under her chin and gazed at him, all at once cold. Intimidating. _Very Russian_ , he thought. “Oh, милый мальчик. I’m not here to persuade you into some deal. I’m here to threaten you.”

“I – _oh_. Oh.” 

"Yes, oh." Her smile dropped. “If you don’t indulge what I ask, I will leave this room, take the elevator to the administrative offices, and report you directly to the president of the university for cheating. And I have proof.” She dipped her hand into a pocket in the sweater hanging off her shoulders and waved her phone at him. His mouth hung open. “Take out your wallet, darling.”

“Jesus wept. You're extorting me?” He asked incredulously, even as he found his hand traveling to he back pocket of his jeans.

She leaned forward and hummed like a content cat when he put his wallet on the table between them. Now that she was closer, he could tell her eyes were a brilliant deep green. She picked up the tattered fold of leather and thumbed through it. He couldn't bring himself to do anything. “Smart boy.” 

Bucky sat as she thumbed through his belongings. "Aw, look at your precious chubby cheeks,” she suddenly cooed, running her thumb over the outdated picture on his license. Mid-sentence, her other hand plucked the cool $70 he had to his name from the messy fold he crammed bills and receipts into. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes as her fingers flicked through the bills. “How sweet.” 

He made a choked sort of noise. “Christ, you gotta be kiddin’ me, c’mon. You just gonna clean me out like that?”

The girl rose with so much grace that it kind of left him absolutely breathless. She glided around the corner of the table and took his chin between her fingers. A violent shudder went through him as she leaned closer.

“I am. Next time you fuck up and I catch it,” her palm came down on his cheek, twice, neither a slap nor a gentle pat. “You can pay for my silence some other way, hmm? I’m sure you’ll think of something in the meantime.” She was gone without another word. Even he struggled to get the door to the study room open it was so heavy, yet it didn’t make a sound as it shut firmly behind her.

And Bucky, well. Bucky was left with a unique dizziness that he would come to associate her perfume, an empty wallet, and a pair of suddenly very, _very_ tight jeans.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky flopped face-first onto his pillow, balancing his phone with his shoulder and chin. His backpack slid from his shoulder onto the floor, landing with a soft _thunk_ against the tile. Bucky winced, realizing it was his old laptop that was probably taking the brunt of the blow…but he didn’t care enough at the moment to give it more of a reaction.

He had more important things to worry about. Namely, continuing his desperate (ly pathetic) search for the Instagram account of that redhead from his lecture. That afternoon, she’d been wearing a sunflower patterned skirt and crop top combo that had him a little weak at the knees. Her legs, Bucky thought, had honestly gone on for miles… despite her stature. He was more than a little eager to see if she had any pictures of it up for him to drool over.

So yeah, he was only half-listening to Steve and Sam on the other side of the call as he started on the task of untying his boots and kicking them off. One sailed across the room and landed on his desk, scattering the loose-leaf notes and blueprints he’d been working on for class.

He swore colorfully and jumped over, fighting with his other shoe. There was a huge black mark along one of the last things he’d been working on, and he sighed angrily. He hadn’t made any progress on them in more than a week, actually, but now it was getting down to crunch time and he’d have to redo that mockup from scratch. His advisor was already bothering him to turn in the drafts, and Bucky knew he was running out of good graces and fortunate wind to sail on. He was a decent student (he wouldn’t have gotten into the program if he wasn’t), but he’d been distracted recently. It was really starting to show in his work.

 _Distracted,_ Bucky thought, immediately followed by the fuzzy, dream-like image of red curls and a sharp smirk in his head.

“Christ,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I don’t know if I wanna ask her out or ask her to punch me in the face.”

Bucky pulled his phone away from his ear, answering Sam’s jarring laugh and dramatically disgust-twisted face with a glare of his own.

The other boy’s shoulders were shaking as he laughed. The movement jostled Steve, who was laid beside him next to a bag of Lay’s chips that had been cut open across the middle to allow easier chip retrieval. The blond elbowed carefully into the FaceTime call, tucking his chin over Sam’s shoulder to look at Bucky quizzically.

There was that familiar dip between his brows, the one that meant he was worried, but trying not to sound like a mother hen (and sounding like one anyway).

“Buck,” he started, sounding careful and stern, “That’s…that’s kinda concerning, actually.”

Bucky flashed him his finger, pausing his struggles to undo the knot in his left sleeve. He had to wash that flannel, as much as he loved wearing it, and if he left the knot in his clothes for a wash cycle they never fit right again.

“Fuck off, Wilson.” He shouted. “Wish I had another finger to flick your dumbass off with.”

Sam stuck his tongue out.

“And it’s fine, Steven, Jesus ’n Mary.” Bucky aimed his hand in front of the screen more fairly, so Steve had a good view too. “Just joking.” Bucky waggled his eyebrows. “Mostly. Twenty cold ones says she’s got a mean right hook.”

Steve shook his head and, probably bolstered by the infectious, braying laugh of Sam beside him, chuckled. It was contagious, Sam’s reaction, and soon Bucky was pulled into a fit that left him breathless along with the two of them.

When Bucky was able to wipe the tears from his eyes and focus on the screen again, Steve’s face was red with glee…but there was a thoughtful frown pulling at his lips.

“Wait, a second, Buck. You said she had red hair?”

Bucky blinked at him, settled a little more comfortably on his stomach. He reached blindly to his left to pull a pillow under his chin. It was lumpy and an ugly mustard shade, one of the things Becca had sent him away to college with. He kept it out of guilt, sentimentality, and the crushing knowledge that he couldn’t even afford to buy a clearance pillow from the thrift store on the kind of budget he was working with.

 _Grad student life_ , he thought miserably. 

Bucky clutched the pillow closer. It no longer smelled of Becca or his family’s apartment, and the _Fort Greene_ script beneath the carefully embroidered Brooklyn skyline was fading, but it was familiar to him. He often found himself reaching for it in a moment of weakness, or when he needed to feel grounded. This wasn’t one fo those times, but the more he thought about it the more he found himself burying his nose into its threadbare stitches. Despite it no longer smelling of her or his family’s apartment and the _Midwood_ script beneath a carefully embroidered Brooklyn skyline was fading, it was familiar enough that Bucky often found himselfclutching it for security. He pressed his nose just about the Becca’s ratty stitching of The Hub.

He was definitely grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, she’s a redhead. Like this awesome, natural burnt umber kinda color. Its great in the sun.” He sighed stupidly, ignoring Sam’s dramatic gagging. “Why’d you ask?”

Steve was smiling like he was filing all this away for future blackmail purposes. Knowing him, he probably was. “That’s real cool, Buck. I’m sure it’s pretty. Listen — red hair, green eyes, looks like a shark with that evil grin?”

Bucky thought of the grin in question and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, definitely,” he replied dreamily.

“Buck,” Steve hid another laugh in his hand as Sam left the frame. A moment later he re-appeared, arms crossed over his chest. There was a mischievous smile on his face, showing off his white teeth and that gap toothed mouth. When Sam smiled like that, it made Bucky nervous. Usually it meant he was in for some shit or another.

Sam leaned his face closer so that it ate up the majority of the screen. Steve complained, sounding muffled. Bucky saw a flurry of pale, freckled arms and Sam said something he couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, yeah! I know, I’m gonna - no, well fuck _you_ too Wilson!” Steve was laughing, only to be cut off in a grunt. There was a blur and the sound of a bed protesting, and then Sam peered over Steve’s left shoulder, digging his chin in hard enough it earned him an elbow to the ribs. Bucky watched all of this amusedly, thumb over pursed lips and he watched his favorite idiots in the world wrestle like a couple of kids.

“C’mon, stop —” Steve complained. “I gotta —…shut up! Listen, pal. I think Sam ‘n I know your mystery Russian girl.”

There was a squawk of protest and Sam pounced, squirming away and landing on Steve with a soft _oof_.

“Russian girl! I knew it!” Sam shrieked. His expression, when he managed to manhandle the phone away from Steve, was twisted in delighted amusement. “You’re tellin’ me homeboy’s got the hots for — oh man, no way. This mystery girl that’s had Barnes by the junk for the last two weeks. The one who extorted money from him? You think it’s —”

“Shhh!” Steve interrupted, reaching back to hush at Sam, who dodged his waving hand with a grimace.“She didn’t introduce herself to him yet. We gotta let him suffer. ‘Sides, you know how she is about her privacy.”

Sam made a face, acquiescing with a grim nod.

Bucky was trying to catch up, dumbstruck by this development and the dizzyingly fast betrayal that had gone with it. “You fucks _know_ her, and you ain’t gonna tell me?”

 

Steve quirked an eyebrow and shifted on his elbows so he could look back at Sam. “I think you have an art history lecture with her, right?” He turned back around. “Yeah, and she’s in my Queer Theory discussion group on Fridays. Plus, T says his little sister - the genius that teaches some compsci classes on Thursdays - she’s in one of those, too.”

Steve shot him an innocently suspicious look. “She singlehandedly tampered with the 2016 elation.”

Sam opened his mouth in a similar display of theatric shock. “Oh my god, I knew it.”

Bucky, meanwhile, was trying to absorb and digest all this information. “Not only is she absolutely _gorgeous_ , she’s bilingual, likes art, is open-minded, and she does ballet? For the love of all things good and great on this green Earth, please tell me her goddamn name.”

“I don’t know, Barnes.” Sam said, tapping his chin evilly. “I don’t know if you’ve suffered a long enough dry spell yet.”

Steve nodded, going along with it. “Yeah, that guy you hooked up at T’s party was only, what, a year ago?”

“The one with the skin condition who couldn’t shut the fuck up?” Sam asked, to which Steve nodded.

“Actually it’s been a year and a half, but thanks for reminding me of how long I’ve been stupidly lonely. Assholes.” Bucky hung his head, miserable. “I did have that coffee date with Thor’s friend, but I’m pretty sure she was just trying to decide if dudes were her thing —”

“Saw her at Pride over the summer with her girlfriend. I’m gonna assume not but you never know.”

Bucky sighed, long and low.

Sam leaned closer over Steve’s shoulder to silence Bucky with A Look. “Listen, my man. I do not want to hear another self-pitying word out of your dumb white mouth.” He held up his finger, shushing Bucky’s attempted interruption. “No. And same goes for this lovey-dovey boner shit about this girl, okay? You don’t even know her, dude. The secondhand embarrassment is real. It is palpable. It is on the level of cringe that Tim Allen’s conservative sitcom, and that shit was cancelled multiple times.”

Steve snickered.

“I could cut it with a knife, Scooby-Doo style,” Sam continued, waving his hands in the air. “It is the cringes shit to ever happen on campus since that pretentious business-comm kid threw a fit over his unicycle getting a parking ticket!”

Here, Steve sobered. “It was a hoverboard he made modifications to, actually.” Sam gave him a quizzical look, and he shrugged. “I hooked up with him freshmen year.”

“You hooked up with Tony Stark.” Sam stated, incredulous and affronted at the _audacity._ He looked back at the screen towards Bucky. “Nevermind. Steve gettin’ dicked down by Richy Rich is the cringiest thing ever to happen on this campus.”

“Nice,” Bucky said, pumping his fist.

“Just go talk to her, for fuck’s sake,” Steve finally sighed. His glasses dangled precariously on his nose, and Sam reached around to poke them back into place. “Thanks. If I can get over crush anxiety, so can you Buck.”

Sam sucked his teeth and threw his arms around Steve’s neck, peppering him with loud, smacking kisses. They nearly toppled over the edge of the bed with his weight. “Awwww! Babe! That’s my boy, you’re such a sweetheart.”

Steve was pink now, but the self-satisfied smirk on his face said it all, even as he protested weakly. “Jesus,” he murmured, half-heartedly fighting back against the onslaught. “Stop it, Sam c’mon.”

“I hate you both,” Bucky groaned, giving up. He swiped his thumb across the screen and closed out the call just as the over-exaggerated kissing noises began.

 

-

 

Two weeks after the girl had cleaned him out of house and home (and grocery money for the month), Bucky awoke to the most depressingly dreary Wednesday of the semester thus far.

Usually he tried to wake with the sunrise, found that he did better mentally with a whole day ahead of him. But today, it was so cloudy and dark that he nearly slept through the reminder alarm for his first class. Bucky had a little bit of a reputation as a punk and party boy, mostly due to his first couple of years of undergrad, but one thing he was dead serious about? Academics. He’d made a promise to himself a long time ago that his transcript would never see a GPA _that_ notoriously low ever again.

On the bright side, he remembered to be practical and responsible for once in his goddamn life and actually had the sense to grab his umbrella before he left his apartment. He even tossed it into the backseat of his car, onto his messenger bag, and set out.

Later that afternoon he was definitely glad he had checked the weather. Halfwaythrough his lecture (the one with the mysterious redhead), the sky had opened up. The green spaces on campus turned into wet, muddy swamp in the places that lacked sidewalks.

Many of the other students had trudged to this early class without umbrellas, and when finally class ended, Bucky watched as they darted into the downpour swearing. The deafening claps of thunder set him on edge, combined with the shrieks and yells from the other students, had Bucky antsy in a way that he knew would end up in an evening headache, or a late-evening nightmare. Each flash of light, the anticipation as he waited for the rolling thunder that followed, the torrents of rain…all of it had him in a desperate mood for a warm cup of coffee. Maybe he would head to the cafe across the street from the public library - he always did his best to avoid the over-priced coffeehouse that operated on campus.

He also had the urge to reschedule his TA introduction. It was slated for that afternoon, but…he considered, for a moment, sending the text to his advisor and then turning his phone off to ignore the reply. She was pretty good about understanding his predicament and needs, but the guilt still overwhelmed him at times. In his pocket, his fingers began tapping an anxious little rhythm against his phone case, itching for a decision to be made.

Bucky turned, fidgety with energy, and his heart leaped unexpectedly (violently) in his chest. A pair of familiar, mossy green eyes was staring at him over the throngs of waiting students. His favorite Russian extortionist was a few meters down the sidewalk, sheltered under the building’s overhang too. Her arms were wrapped around her midsection, and her bangs had been twisted away into braids that framed her temples alluringly.

He could see this all clearly because she was standing a cool, but respectable, distance away from the other groups of students who were waiting for the rain to lighten up.

Until that moment, Bucky’s only interaction with her had been the blackmailing. He’d been too shy, really, to do much of anything beside wax poetic to his friends about her. He’d only seen the back of her head or profile in class.

Now that he had a chance to look at her (oh christ he wasn’t staring was he? _Fuck_ he definitely was oh well too late to stop now), Bucky realized that he wasn’t all that intimidating to begin with. She couldn’t have been more than five-four or so, and at least three inches of that was due to the ankle boots she had on, which were sensibly heeled. She had a nice shape, too, and Bucky’s mouth went a little dry at the thought. She seemed to like floral print - today was a low-high skirted sundress that accentuated the curve of her hips and her waist. She was just as gorgeous as his daydreams had convinced him, but she was also the type of student that blended in unremarkably.

Well, he thought with a stupid wave of affection, except for that hair. When she’d cornered him in the library a few weeks ago, it’d been pulled up in a sporty, high ponytail. Today, it floated sweetly around her face, sticking to her cheeks in the humidity as it began to frizz.

Bucky thought of Steve’s tease about her being some sort of Russian informative. That made him think about the other thing Steve had said, the bit about getting over his crush anxiety. 

She watched him warily as he approached her, eyes narrowed. Bucky might have been too intimidated to stop in front of her, but now… it was like he was magnetized. Her eyes went a little wide when she realized he wasn’t simply walking past. He could have sworn there was a hint of defensive terror there, before she easily schooled her expression into an odd sort of placidity.

“I spent your money already, American.” She stated cooly as he stopped in front of her. When he didn’t respond, she frowned and squared her shoulders. God, he’d forgotten how much he loved the hint of an accent from her. “It’s gone. Also, I can describe you to the police.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose, failing to put two and two together. “You’re the one that extorted me, and now you’re threatening to get the police involved?”

Was that…Bucky swore he saw the hint of a smirk. It couldn’t be, he thought, and shifted his umbrella under his left armpit so he could extend his right hand properly. “Well, hey. Might as well give ‘em my name, too. Properly introduce myself, and all. I’m James Barnes. My friends call me Bucky.”

Her expression went quizzical for a moment almost as if he’d caught her off guard. “I know who you are. I saw your license.”

“I’m introducing myself. Come on, Red. It’s only polite.” He shrugged. “I figure you’re pretty alone on campus, huh?”

Her mouth set in a grimace and Bucky followed her gaze over her shoulder to where students were starting to pair up, sharing umbrellas or racing through the rain with backpacks and purses shielding their heads. No one had approached her except for him.

Bucky nodded down to the umbrella under his arm. “I can walk you to your next class,” he offered, and despite the confidence building in his chest found himself going considerably pink. He never had a problem turning on the charm for people, but something about her set off his brain in all sorts of haywire ways.

“That is, uh…” He rubbed his jaw, wincing when he realized he’d forgotten to shave that morning. “I mean, if y’want. No pressure.”

Bright eyes blinked back at him.

“Why are you being so nice,” the girl asked suspiciously. She took a step back, and he could have cursed. God, was he fucking this up. “I… now you’re… trying to placate me?” She twisted her body in an angle, almost involuntary, primed like she was ready to dodge him. Or fight him off.

“I _will_ scream.”

 _Shit._ Bucky held his hands up and took two carefully spacious steps back, giving her room. He shook his head vigorously.

“Oh geez, I’m sorry, I - no, I was just offerin’. No ill intentions, ma’am.” He babbled nervously. “I heard you talkin’ to the professor about your case study on that rehabilitation studio in D.C….you’ve got a ballet keychain on your backpack, I’ve seen you carrying those slippers around sometimes, too. So, I figure you’re a dancer. The performing arts center is across campus, and your hair looks real nice today and I thought, ‘ _well maybe she doesn’t wanna mess it up’,_ so - so I just — “

She was staring at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.

He blinked owlishly, once-twice-three times, breathing like he’d run a marathon. Bucky ducked and rubbed at the back of his neck again, muttering an apology. He felt like a fucking idiot, mortifying himself in front of this girl, on _top_ of feeling like a goddamn creep. He was ready for a punch or a scream or a harsh word.

But instead, the girl laughed. First it was a short little burst, nothing more than a giggle. It built and built into a sweet, feminine rasp, just like her voice. The sound of it had Bucky’s gaze snapped from his feet to her immediately. She was covering her mouth with one hand, but he could still see the points of a dangerous curl forming on her lips.

The girl laughed. It was a short little burst, nothing more than a giggle, and sweetly raspy just like her voice, and it had Bucky’s gaze up from his feet immediately. She was covering her mouth with a hand but he could see the points of a dangerous curl forming on her lips.

“I’m sorry, Barnes.” He didn’t know why heat flared in his gut at that, the casual use of his last name. It never had before, not when his professors called on him or his friends teased him. “But I’m headed the opposite direction. I have a break between classes, and I like detouring home to my sad little studio apartment to enjoy some shut eye before—” She trailed off, eyes floating somewhere above his shoulder. Her mouth pursed tightly. “Hm. That is way more personal information than I usually give out.”

Bucky sucked in a breath and gathered his courage, trying to make his grin as charismatic as possible. “I’ll forget that you’ve spilled the beans that you live alone and like taking catnaps if you trade me your name.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Bucky could have jumped for joy and done a stupid fucking _dance_ when a careful smile appeared on her face. He found that it relaxed her considerably, made her look kind. Probably a mistake to get lost in those eyes and assume she wouldn’t kick his ass in a moment’s notice but…

 _What a smile_ , he thought stupidly.

“All right,” she agreed, closing the gap between them. “Here’s the deal. You can walk me home if I can ask, and get an honest answer for, any and all questions on the walk back.”

 _Deal_ , Bucky thought before his brain could even process the request. He was too keen on giving her whatever she asked for, already. A split second after the thought entered his head, Bucky realized all the things a smart, sly girl like her could dig out of him in a walk that short.

He promptly snapped his mouth shut. “ _Welllllll_ …”

One of her sharp eyebrows quirked. “You can have one pass, to skip a question. Just one pass.”

“Deal,” Bucky intoned, dead serious, and stuck out his hand. Shit, he’d agreed too fast again, hadn’t he?

She didn’t take it.

“What? What’s wrong?”

She was smirking, shark-like and dangerous now. “If you forgo the pass, I’ll tell you my name right now. _And_ you ask three questions of your own.”

Bucky chewed on his lip, regarding the short girl before him. She prickled at the edges of his skin like hot coals, blister-warm. It made him daring, that magnetizing confidence in her. It spread through him, warming him from the inside out despite the chill in the wet air, and he knew that the green eyes boring into him were the culprit.

“Deal.”

Her eyes lit up, and finally she fit her small, soft hand into his. The force of her handshake shouldn’t have caught him off guard, but it did.

“Deal,” she agreed, eyes flashing dangerously. “Hello, James. I’m Natasha.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really enjoyed taking a break from the monster that is smwys (my other Buckynat fic) for something more light-hearted. I hope you guys enjoyed, and please leave a comment if you want to see more of this college AU - I have a few more ideas!

Natasha seemed like a pragmatic, logical sort of girl, which was why he was having so much trouble figuring out her motives.As thrilled as he was to finally have some fraction of her attention, to be given permission to learn more about her, it baffled him. Maybe, he thought, her openness and agreeability was all a front. Maybe she was going to lead him into some alley and rob him. 

He’d been robbed during a trip to Midtown with Rebecca, once. It’d been fairly traumatic for him at the time. He’d only fifteen years old, in charge of protecting his young sister, and hadn’t been able to fight back. That was before his last growth spurt, when he’d still been gangly with teenage awkwardness.

(The idea of Natasha robbing him sends a mental image of being pushed up against a wall on the receiving end of a switchblade in her pale hand, and that…well. It was way too embarrassing to admit that the thought hits him with a full body shiver, so he blamed the wet air instead.)

“Cold?” the redhead asked, watching him warily. He had yet to respond to her introduction and he could only hope he hadn’t been staring at her, drooling or panting or something equally, absolutely embarrassing.

“Uh,” Bucky said, mentally searching for something better to continue their conversation with. “Not really. So, Natasha. Pretty name. Russian, I assume, because uh - because you’re Russian.” She stared at him blankly as he stumbled through the words like an idiot. “That’s. I mean, that’s cool. Cooler than James or Buchanan, anyway.”

“It’s just a name,” she replied, turning her face away from him with a huff. “But thanks.” She gestured to his umbrella. “I live up in the Owl’s Ridge apartments. Do you want to wait for the rain to stop…?”

Bucky hurried to open the umbrella, nearly smacking himself in the face with it as it opened. “No no, here. It’s big, we can share.”

Natasha smirked a little and moved to his other side, shifting the teal duffle bag she was carrying to her opposite shoulder to keep it under the umbrella. She looked around, scowling at a few people who were listlessly watching the two of them. A raindrop caught her on her forehead and she swore under her breath, a word that Bucky didn’t catch.

“Are Russian swears as colorful when they’re translated?” Bucky teased.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the _p._ It was an oddly American gesture, and he wondered how long she’d been living in the States for.

Would it be worth it to count that as one of his questions? _Three_ , when all he wanted to do was talk to her for hours on end, pull out the bits and pieces of personality he guessed were under that careful, cool demeanor.

“Okay, well. You wanna get started? Haven’t been up on the north side of town much, so you’ll have to lead the way.” Natasha nodded and started walking forward, leading him up the gently sloping sidewalk and away from their lecture hall.

The rain hadn’t eased up at all and they weaved around puddles as they walked. Other students (most of whom had forgotten an umbrella and were subsequently soaked in the downpour) made room for the pair, probably intimidated by the glare Natasha would assume whenever someone looked like they weren’t going to get out of their way in time.

“You’re scary, you know that?” Bucky asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Her hair was frizzing even more from the humidity now, and several strands were clinging attractively to her cheeks as a result. He tapped the fingers of his right hand against the umbrella handle nervously, itching to pull a smooth move like tucking it behind her ear or something. Well. Knowing Natasha as little as he did, she’d probably sucker punch him in the gut for even trying something like that on her.

“Is that one of your questions, James?” she retorted. Arousal dropped heavy in his gut at the way her accented tongue wrapped around the words, especially his name. He gulped.

“No ma’am,” he said. “Do you want to go first? I gotta think about this.” He grinned at her when she looked up. “Strategize and all that.”

Natasha snorted. “Strategize. Fine, I’ll go first.” To his surprise, she cleared her throat and asked: “Is there anything that’s off limits for you? As much as I like watching you squirm, I don’t want to bring up anything that would be too upsetting.”

Bucky was so nervous he felt like his skeleton was trying to crawl out of his skin. The truth was that he _did_ have some boundaries, especially in a conversation with someone as merciless as Natasha. Maybe that was a little unfair of him to assume, but she didn’t seem like the type to hold anything back if she was given the opportunity.

So the question was…did he want to give her that opportunity?

Hell yeah, he’d give her whatever she wanted. Natasha could (and, knowing her, probably _would_ ) convince him to give her his account and routing numbers.

“Not really,” Bucky responded with a shrug. The movement tipped the umbrella a little bit and a cascade of raindrops splashed against his shoe. He grimaced. “I mean, I can guess what your first question is going to be. It’s usually everybody’s. I don’t mind answering,” he laughed a little. “As evil as you are, I don’t get the feeling that you’d be cruel for the sake of it.”

Natasha made a soft noise, almost like she was surprised. “You’re pretty forgiving, all things considered.”

Bucky ducked his head shyly. “No point in holding grudges.”

She shook her head, grazing his bicep with those soft locks. This had been a terrible fucking idea.

“Okay, James. Here’s my first question.” Bucky prepared himself, took a deep breath and summoned up the answer he was always ready to give. It was like a script, at this point.

( _Lost it in combat. Joined the Army to put myself through undergrad, because my family wasn’t going to be able to swing it otherwise. No, it doesn’t hurt - most of the time.)_

“What’s with you taking a low level anatomy class with a bunch of sophomore pre-med students?” Natasha shook her head. “I mean, you can’t be learning anything. How’s this helping you?”

Bucky had already opened his mouth, prepared to sound like a broken record. He snapped it shut when he realized what words had just left her mouth, and stopped in his tracks. Natasha swore and ducked back under the umbrella.

“Y-you…you’re not gonna ask about —” Bucky gestured to his knotted left sleeve. Natasha’s eyes followed the movement, but no longer than seemed necessary for her to understand what he meant.

“I might.” She answered truthfully, shrugging. “But I’m more curious about some other things.” Natasha regarded him, her perceptive green stare disconcerting. “Why? Do you want me to ask about it?”

He pursed his lips, considering this. Kind of? Not really? If she asked now and got her answer, would that be all she wanted to know? Bucky tended to think about his lack of an arm the most interesting thing about him — it was what most people thought of or asked about or looked at when he was around. Hell, he’d been on dates where someone had wanted to know all about it and didn’t seem interested in him once the mystery was revealed. He’d also been on Tinder meet ups where his date didn’t realize that particular fact, and dodged or made an excuse once he actually showed up.

“I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had a conversation with someone and it _didn’t_ come up at all,” Bucky admitted dryly. To his surprise, Natasha’s lips curled into a grin and she huffed out a little chuckle.

“That was a pretty lame joke.” She teased. He couldn’t help but beam at that, proud of the fact that he’d gotten her to open up and relax a little.

“Full of ‘em, just you wait. I’ve had years to practice.” Bucky gestured and they started walking again, following the main campus esplanade as it wound through the science and math portion of lecture halls.

“Are you going to answer my question?” Natasha asked after a few steps of silence.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. The anatomy class, right?” She nodded. “Well, I did a dual biomed engineering and pre-med undergraduate program. For awhile I wasn’t sure if I wanted to teach or actually go on to med school after I was done with the MCAT. I came here to do my masters, kinda as a break to figure out shit, and so I’ve gotta teach a few classes as part of my program.” Natasha was listening attentively, and waited for him to keep going. “I’m teaching this one, the spring section at least, and I gotta admit I’m a little nervous about it. I remember how shitty and boring some of my pre-med classes were, especially anatomy.”

“So, you’re taking this one because…?”

Bucky laughed shyly, feeling embarrassed. “I dunno, I’m real passionate about what I do. I want other students to feel that way, so I want to get an idea of what it’s like firsthand, see how it’s taught. So far I got some ideas for how I’m gonna change it.”

Natasha was staring at him as they walked, and he squirmed a little under her intense gaze.

“What?”

She shook her head. “You are absolutely genuine about all of that, aren’t you?” He blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. Natasha just laughed. “Unbelievable.”

“Why are _you_ taking it? Aren’t you a dancer or something?”

She gave him a considering glance, and then smirked. “Is that your first question?”

Bucky grinned back and shrugged. “Sure.”

“All right. Well, I’m in ballet. I teach a few different classes on campus, different styles. There’s a few studios downtown that I help at, too.” She looked suddenly mischievous. “I know about ten different styles of martial arts, too, so anatomy is actually interesting and useful.”

Ten different styles of martial arts, Bucky repeated back in his head. Ballet was about as graceful a hobby as one could have, and now he was _also_ picturing her pounding the shit out of some poor punching bag in the gym, taking down someone three times her size with ease. Christ, he felt like such a fucking creep, but it was going to be hard to shake all those wonderful possible variations of a sweaty, red-faced Natasha away.

“Ten — ten? That’s, uh. That’s really…That’s fuckin’ cool, Natasha.” She preened a little. “We should, uh. I have some experience with krav maga and junk. Learned it back when I was serving. We should hit—” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Christ, he was an idiot. “We should hit the mat, sometime.”

Natasha snickered and adjusted the weight of her duffle bag again. “Krav maga. I bet your form is terrible.” Bucky bumped her shoulder and she stumbled a little, sending him a glare. He was about to apologize when she bumped him back. There was no force on the whole goddamn Earth that could keep the stupid, dopey smile from his face then.

* * *

 

“Okay,” she said a few minutes later. They were following the curve of the little pond on the edge of campus, and Bucky had been preoccupied watching a couple of mallards at the edge of the water. The rain had lightened just a little bit, but not enough for him to put the umbrella down. Besides, after it stopped he’d _have_ to put it away, and that meant that Natasha had no reason to stand as close as she had been.

“Okay. So, second question. You grew up in New York?”

Bucky nodded. “That’s a pretty easy question. Yeah, Brooklyn.”

“Where?”

“Neighborhood called Midwood.” She blinked blankly at him. “South of Bed-Stuy?”

Natasha shook her head. “I’ve never been. Queens, Manhattan, uh…”

“Brooklyn, Staten Island, and the Bronx.” He grinned at her teasingly. “You seem more of a Manhattan kinda gal, to be honest.” She looked at him curiously, one auburn eyebrow raised. “Lots of white-collar crime. You’d fit right in.”

She scowled at him, landing an elbow in his ribcage for his snide joke. “What was it like, growing up there?”

Bucky missed it, and that was the first answer that came to mind. He missed his family, the shitty little apartment, the pothole-ridden streets, the public library. He missed the authentic Jewish delis, the bodegas that offered him a discount. He missed watching the old Russian men play chess in the park, missed catching the subway to take Becca to Brighton in the summer, missed running late with Steve as they tried to catch the Q train.

Instead, he shrugged. He didn’t want to bore her with all those depressing details. “It was like growing up anywhere else, I guess. I never really had a baseline to compare it to, and it’s hard to explain to someone who’s never been. It’d be like asking you to tell me how _your_ childhood was.”

Here, she frowned. “Volgograd is —” Bucky waited when she cut herself off, carefully maneuvering her by the elbow as she was about to step in a puddle. “Thank you. You’re right, actually. I can’t explain it.”

“Actually, she says,” he huffed. “Okay, question three for you?”

Her eyes danced from his face to his arm, the sleeve. “Why did you join the military?”

Bucky blinked at her, stunned. He probably shouldn’t be. She was perceptive in a way that seemed almost otherworldly, and it wasn’t exactly an uncommon guess. He knew he carried himself a little awkwardly: as anxious as he could be around people he was always polite, respectful. His posture was good, too. He took orders well (but that wasn’t something he was too proud of, military industrial complex and all that).

“Money,” he answered. “Dunno if you get those emails about free tuition, no loan education? They’re pretty common for high schoolers and undergrad students to get. Usually it’s from a recruiter.” He sighed. “I dunno. We put a lot of emphasis on servin’ the country. Americans, I mean. I wanted to feel like I was doin’ something. My old man died while he was in the Army, and we were…it was hard on my ma. We didn’t have a lot. Rebecca - she’s a lot smarter than me. She was gonna get scholarships wherever she applied, but it wouldn’t be enough to cover other costs, and we weren’t gonna be able to help. I realized that pretty early on, y’know, we really only had enough for one of us to go on to college. So I joined, ‘cuz they make promises about tuition and loans and stipends and all that.”

He took a deep breath, embarrassed to have rambled on so much. “Sorry. I — I still think about it, sometimes. Y’know, how my life would be different if I hadn’t made that decision.” Bucky shook his left shoulder, waggling the knotted sleeve. “Probably’d have lefty, still.”

“You also probably wouldn’t be the man you are otherwise,” Natasha offered. It was an uncharacteristically soft thing for her to say, soft and sentimental. He didn’t like thinking negatively of her, but nothing she’d done or said up to this point had given him any inkling that she was a particularly maudlin or touchy-feely kind of person.It was nice, but it also made him a little suspicious.

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “Maybe I would. Definitely wouldn’t be in the field I’m in though.”

“Biomedical engineering is impressive,” Natasha agreed. “Like I said, though.You’re unbelievable. Turn here, I’m right up the hill at building C.”

They were getting close now, and he couldn’t lie about feeling a little disappointed about that. Natasha’s company was surprisingly…humanizing. Sure, he’d been fawning over her for a long time, but he hadn’t really known much about her, other than the fact that he was hopelessly attracted to her. And that she’d taken his grocery and gas money.

“Can we do this again, sometime?” Bucky blurted before he could stop himself. He dropped the umbrella as they approached her building, an old looking condo attached to two others at the corners. There was a dark shape sitting in one of the second story windows, and Bucky realized it was a cat. He wondered if it was hers.

“That’s your second question.” Natasha said, ducking under the awning of the entryway. Bucky followed, mesmerized by the hazy outline of her against the rain that was still coming down in a consistent pour. “Are you sure you want to use it for that?”

His nerves were buzzing. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Her answering grin made him feel like the ground had fallen out from below his feet. “Yes, we can do this again.”

“I have one more question, though.”

“I’m taking it for myself.” Natasha tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. He hadn’t seen her bashful, yet, but now there was a significant pink coloring her face. He took two steps forward involuntarily, entranced. “Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee?”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open and he shook his head in disbelief. “I — I would like to, but it’s a little late for that, isn’t it? You probably…I mean you need your rest, don’t you, so you can do your — dancing…thing. I —”

Natasha stepped closer, finally closing the distance between them. She dropped her bag at her feet in favor of sliding her hands up his chest and locking her slim fingers behind his neck.

“I had an umbrella in my bag. I wanted you to walk me home.”

Y-you planned all this,” Bucky croaked, suddenly understanding. He didn’t know what to do with his hand, didn’t want to be too presumptuous, but… “You…oh. Oh, I’m an idiot, huh?”

She _giggled_. “A little bit. But perhaps I could have made my intentions clearer. Am I mistaken, or do Americans not invite each other to their place when they need a pretense to get someone inside?”

He gulped, finally settling his palm on the swell of her hip. She shifted a little closer to him with a sigh, sounding suspiciously victorious. Relieved. “Uh. I guess they do, yeah. I’m a little out of practice, which should explain…uh. This.”

“I think it’s cute. You get so bashful about the smallest things.” She shrugged. A devious grin settled on her mouth. She unlaced her hands and traced the edge of his jaw with her index finger, clearly delighting in the full-body shudder he responded with. She cooed. “Aw, the blush on you. If that is all it takes to get you so shy and nervous, I have a feeling this is going to be more fun that I thought.”

Bucky gulped, his fingers on the wonderful curve of her waist flexing. She’d _thought_ about it? He wanted very badly to kiss her, now more than ever, and was even leaning in when there was a sudden sharp, loud bang against glass from above them.

Natasha twisted at the waist and he let his hand follow the motion, slipping against the bow of her spine. There was giggling from the open window, and Bucky tore his eyes away from Natasha’s lips to find the source of the sound. Two girls were poking their heads from the unit above them, one with dark, straight hair and almond shaped eyes and the other with curly mass of brown hair and tawny skin.

“Jessica, Wanda.” She shouted something up at the pair, snappy but affectionate. “I shouldn’t have to remind what happens if you cross me. Let me have this!”

“Tell him to turn around!” Shouted the girl with straightened hair, obviously leering. “We need a full 360.”

Bucky’s face was growing hotter by the minute. Natasha seemed to sense his growing discomfort. Smoothly, stealthily, she found his hand behind her back and laced their fingers together. She retrieved her bag as they went and searched the pocket for the key, sending one last glare and a primly raised middle finger.

“Fuck you, Jess. Hope your walls are sound-canceling!” She yelled. Bucky followed her over the threshold, stumbling against the surprising weight she was yanking him around with.

The stairs creaked as he followed her up, stumbling blearily and wondering if this was all a dream. At her door, he could hear the soft mews of the cat he’d seen in the window.

“You have a cat,” he said stupidly, feeling affectionate and ridiculous at her meager blush. “Natasha, Jesus Christ. Are you even real?”

“I’ve been asking you that the whole time,” she replied, struggling to get her key in the lock. He’d bent forward to move her hair away from her neck, and was peppering the skin there with kisses much more G-rated than he felt like, at the moment. She smelled like jasmine, and he was about to move his ministrations to the back of her ear, following the scent, when she finally got her door open.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asked, feeling more out of breath than a flight of stairs and a twenty minute walk would usually have him. Natasha shook her head, grinning widely, and then the door closed and he was being pressed up against it. He couldn’t help the ragged groan that ripped from him, and suddenly he was thinking about up-against-the-wall mugging thing. “Oh, oh fuck yeah. More than okay.”

“No bad anatomy puns,” Natasha commanded. She was fighting with the collar of his shirt, and hissed thankfully when one of the buttons popped and she had access to his neck.

“You gonna kick me out if —” Bucky sucked in a breath when her mouth found his skin. She was up on her tiptoes, his shaking hand at her waist, and her open mouth was pressed hot against the hollow of his throat. If she was a vampire and gonna tear it out, he didn’t really think there was a better way to go.

Natasha murmured something under her breath, right up against his pulse, and he was about to ask her to repeat herself when his brain caught up. She’d said something in Russian just then, and he was suddenly much, much closer to spontaneous combustion than he had been a moment ago. She was making quick work of the buttons of his shirt, and pretty soon her cold palms were pressed against his abdomen.

“Hm,” she hummed thoughtfully, splaying her fingersover his muscles and making his toes curl in his boots. “I take back everything nasty I said about krav maga. God bless.”

Bucky huffed out a strained laugh, biting his lip to keep from groaning too loudly. He doubted poor Jessica next door had sound-proofed walls.

“God bless,” he agreed, and buckled up for the ride.


End file.
